


Shut up.

by Finian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, I swear it wasn't supposed to be so sad, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finian/pseuds/Finian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fin can see the future. He can see where you're going, what you're going to do. He can see where your trail ends, and sometimes, it's a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut up.

He won't shut up. He won't shut up, and he keeps going and going and going, and Fin's not sure, but somewhere in the conversation he picked up the bottle and began drinking. His throat burns, and Itchy keeps talking. Talking about him, talking about Trace. About how 'sad' it is and how much he'll miss him.

It isn't like Fin saw it all coming. That was kind of his thing. He knew- he knew since day one that Trace was going to die right there in the living room. Stitch couldn't get to his effigy in time. There was nothing anyone could do. Fin knew. That didn't make it easier to let go when Crowbar was pulling him from the wreckage. That didn't make watching them dump Trace's corpse in the ground any less bitter. Even Scratch hadn't offered help. He knew, too.

He considered telling Itchy when he was going to die, just to shut him the fuck up. He wanted to grab him by the collar and walk him to the spot in the basement that they would find his corpse, to point and scream at him, to shove him to the concrete and grind his dumb green nose into the ground until he understood. 

He just lifts the bottle to his lips again, and tones the asshole out until he's nothing but background noise, static from the TV hanging disconnected from the cable. He's in his own room now; he's not sure when he left Itchy in the parlor, but he is sure it's been a while. The bottle's empty, on the floor near his chair. 

It's daytime now, he notices. It's been a whole day, and everyone seems so much better. He thought he would be better prepared, but all he can think of right now is following every one of his friends trails, if only to steel himself for their deaths. He can't bring himself to move from his chair, staring at the colorful streams as they flow.

One catches his eye. For a minute, he thinks it could be Trace's, but that's impossible. Trace was in a hole in the ground, but he'd watched that trail a thousand times, and he knows Trace when he sees him. Maybe he's still drunk. He finally brings himself to stand, off balance, standing in that trail. It's flowing one way, and he follows it back the other.

It leads out the door, through the hall, back past the parlor, past where Trace had died the day before. There was still a stain on the carpet, no matter how long Fin had spent on his knees, crying over the blood. He followed the river, red as the stain on the carpet, outside into the sun. It was warm, beautiful.

It wasn't fair. Trace didn't deserve to miss such a beautiful day. Here the trail met another, a telltale stream of milky white. Scratch. Both merged, one atop the other, red hovering above the white. Scratch! He'd never been so happy to see that dumb sphere.

And he'd never been so happy to see Trace, looking like he'd just been dug up from a dirt nap. He had. He'd been dead. Scratch set Trace down, standing back while Fin practically tackled him, not ashamed in the slightest to cry in front of that goddamned asshole, clinging to his other half like his life depended on it. Over Trace's shoulder, he could have sworn Scratch was smiling. Which was weird of him to think, but it was something about the way his shoulders softened and and his back straightened.

"We simply could not separate such an important pair." Was all he offered, and his shoulders moved slightly as he spoke. Trace was crying just as hard as Fin was, hiccuping between the sobs, the two of them down on their knees. They kissed, desperate, teeth clacking and slicing into each other's lips.

Itchy wouldn't shut up. He wouldn't shut up about how much of a blessing it was that Scratch brought him back, about how happy he was to see him again. And this time, Fin was happy to listen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read my first seriously-published piece of fan work! I hope you all enjoyed it!  
> -Lots of love, Finian.


End file.
